( Wei Wuxian sits at the chair placed bedside, head inclined in a nod to the elder who sat on the bed. There are papers, charcoal, there are the sprawling works of a man whose mind is not at ease, and he recognises that, to whatever degree. )

No, not more than a few weeks, and you were mostly not sensible for it. Though I have had the care of you for the last half year and more. I'm Wei Wuxian. Do you know your name? Your homeland? They don't tell me much, and the guards... are as guards ever are.

( A frown, a glance toward closed doors, and he looks back to Zenobius. The relief is there, that the man wakes, that he's aware, unlike the small, fever-like stutters of his gasping to not-quite consciousness on the ship, those near two months at sea. )